Perceptions
by DaniDM
Summary: Part 4 of the series - It's all in the way we look at things, isn't it? The day to day. The good and bad. The trials and triumphs. Henry and Julia are home from Kenya. Personal adjustments are being made on both sides. Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain.
1. Chapter 1 There's No Place Like Home

**Author's note - Just my luck, I'm finally back and the series is about to start. My plan is now up in the air. I don't want to plagiarize the series, so let's see what I can do.**

**Dani**

**1 – There's No Place Like Home**

I stood on the wooden, front balcony, stretching toward the rising sun. Hands high above my head. Lean body reaching from ankles to fingertips, stiff muscles creaking as they woke up. My face tipped toward the brightening sky. Fawn-colored hair tousled by the light breeze that buffeted under the overhang. The sweet smell of prairie grass and green sage filled my lungs with a renewed sense of being. I was _home_, a feeling that was as inexplicable as where I had chosen to settle and live my life. I guess it was all in how one looked at it.

Exactly one year ago today, my mind had wandered in the contrasting beauty of rugged mountains, dry, flat land, and cerulean sky. It reminded me of the life I had been torn from, but instead of twisting my hurting heart, the serenity that waved across the wheat-like grass on a shimmer of heat soothed my aching soul.

I had been bitter, angry at the world. I had been seriously injured on the job and struggled with the fact that I had been sidelined, sent back to the states, and not permitted to continue my passion. I was forced to swallow that bitter pill but reluctantly chose to make the best of it. Seven pins in a map. Connect the dots. Travel a place and culture I hadn't live in for over twenty-five years, where I didn't want to be: the good ol' USA. Me and my newly acquired dog. Two damaged souls in search of…what…?

I was three quarters through my journey when I'd blown a tire on the I-90 travelling south out of Montana and into Wyoming. While changing it on the desolate stretch of highway, a tribal police officer stopped to help. I hadn't known I'd been trespassing on Native land, and old instincts kicked in making me mistrustful. Vigilance had kept me alive for so many years in East Africa, but the man's quiet assistance inexplicably eased my tension.

That was the beginning. My introduction to Wyoming and its people. The beauty of the land. The calm, quiet help from a stranger. He'd given directions to a State Park where I met new people who would become good friends. Within that first week, I would meet the man who would eventually chip away the bricks I'd build around my damaged psyche.

Ah… I smiled to myself, leaning against a support post of the sand-colored, ranch-style house, shielding my eyes from the glistening morning sun, look where my travels had brought me. Such an amazing gift it offered.

The screen door creaked open, and I shifted to glance over my shoulder. Henry's hand gently slipped around my waist, and we silently stood, side by side, gazing out at the new day, the smell of coffee wafting from his cup, tired creases still around his eyes. I tipped my head to his shoulder, slipping my arm around his waist in return.

"I missed you coming in last night. Were you late?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded. "I could have dance through the room with the Kick Shickers playing and you would not have woken. I am surprised I was able to squeeze in."

I laughed lightly. "I didn't take up _that_ much space."

Henry snorted. "You were spread eagle on your stomach, taking all four corners of the bed. When I lifted the sheet, you shifted slightly, and I was able to find a small space. As long as I stayed perfectly straight and on my side, I was fine," he teased.

I playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "Next time, sleep on the couch," I smirked. "It's Friday." The subject changed. "Would you like help with your delivery?"

"If you like." He moved to lean against another post, sipping his coffee, running his free hand reflectively through his black hair.

Henry had been deeply affected by the level of poverty we'd seen in parts of Kenya. And, although he'd always been aware of the insufficiencies on the Rez, since we'd been home, he'd been more attentive.

Tribal Council oversaw a group that kept an eye on the most senior Elders – making sure they were taken care of - doctor's appointments, shopping, bringing in groceries, or simply going to visit. But, Henry took it one step further. Once a week, on Friday, with the surplus food from the Red Pony, he and Carl, his cook, packaged nearly twenty meals for those who were most dire. He would deliver them to the Tribal Council, and the group would distribute them as needed. He requested to remain anonymous, and Anita promised to keep his secret.

"You spoke with Anita yesterday?" he asked.

"Yes. We talked about the garden and about the youth group again. A nursery in town has offered to donate a number of plants if the Council will accept them. Pride is hindering the decision. And, the Across the Ages program that met during the winter - the Elders and younger children - produced a number of seedlings. Anita called for a group of volunteers to prep and plant tomorrow. I'm going to go help."

Henry nodded.

Last summer, I had initiated a plan to build a community garden beside the community center. Anita, president of the Tribal Council, had convinced young and old to get involved, and while I had given them the idea and offered my help, it was the cooperative effort of the people that made the garden a success. By the time the vegetables were planted, though, it was later in the season than should have been. As a result, the crop was limited, but what had been harvested in late October had been the base at a pot luck, community dinner at Halloween. The villagers were gratified by their effort, and I was pleased to see that interest had kept up over the winter.

The youth group was an idea that Henry often toyed with, but hadn't followed through on until the garden was being built. A group of indifferent boys had mocked and scoffed the villagers' efforts, and I had convinced them to get involved by producing a design and painting a mural on the side of the community center. Their pride had been tangible, and we wanted to nurture it. So, the idea of creating a safe place away from negative temptations in life, a place they could call their own, have pride in, had been brought to the Tribal Council. The concept had been embraced, but the Council questioned where the youth could meet and were very particular about who would be involved. Understandably, they wanted qualified people – an activities director, a social worker, a drug councillor, and they wanted all of the staff to be Native. So, in essence, my direct involvement had been ruled out. The project had been attempted but had failed over the winter and was presently on the backburner as volunteers that fit the Council's strict prerequisites had been near impossible to find. I was trying to encourage them to widen their parameters and try again.

"You will be heading to Casper on Sunday?" Henry asked absently, watching a hawk glide toward the distant mountains.

I nodded slowly. "Yes. My last _talk_ is on Monday. Poli Sci and National Guard together. We're going to have a lunch after so I might be a bit late."

"Have you given any more thought to Sheridan's offer?"

I shielded my eyes again gazing out at nothing in particular. Sheridan College, just forty-five minutes up the road, had offered a part-time teaching post in the Social Studies department for the Fall semester, hinting at a course in Sociology – cultural diversity. I was thinking about it but still had plenty of time to give them my answer. Although the campus and classes were small and close, it didn't have the same connection with the National Guard, and I really liked that aspect of the job. I didn't want to give up Casper.

Henry took a step down and turned to face me, wrapping both hands around my waist. We were eye to eye.

"You are good at many things. Do what makes you happy." He kissed the tip of my nose.

I pressed my lips together and smiled at the man before me, bringing my fingers up to tuck an unruly black curl behind his ear. Lightly brushing my lips to his, I whispered. "I will."

We stood for a moment, souls meeting, enjoying the silent connection when Sugar, who had been stretched out in a sunbeam on the balcony, suddenly jumped to her feet, alert and attentive to the truck bouncing off the main road and onto the crushed gravel drive. Her paws began an anxious, stationary march as she began to whine.

"How does she know?" Henry's brows furrowed as he watched the excited dog.

I shook my head in amusement. "I have no idea."

Sugar waited for the truck to stop then leap from the top step and raced to the newcomer, tail wagging furiously, whining and yipping as if she'd found a long-lost friend.

I laughed as the man got out to greet the animal. "You know, we didn't even get that kind of response from her after being away for weeks?"

Walt grinned but said nothing. Sugar, for some reason, was unabashedly in love with the man, and as he approached, she trotted faithfully by his side.

"Sorry to interrupt." He tipped his Cattleman's hat back with a single finger. "Got a situation. Could use your help," he directed toward Henry.


	2. Chapter 2 Reaching Out

**2 – Reaching Out **

The Sheriff's new Ford Bronco sped down the highway and off the Rez with Henry in the passenger seat, elbow bent out the open window, wind tossing jet black hair into his eyes, waiting for an explanation from Walt as to what was going on.

"I heard you talking to Julia," Walt finally began. "You had plans today. Why didn't you say something?" he asked as they headed toward the Big Horn Mountains.

"She and Carl can handle it. Besides, you said you needed my help. What is wrong?" Henry watched the emerging prairie whiz by and change to tree-lined grassland.

Walt sighed, jaw tightening. "A lot's happened lately. A sheep herder is killed over a land deal. Stolen cattle show up on Main Street. A man puts a hit on his wife and _you_ apply for the job. Another man's painted red and someone blows him up. What's this world coming to?" His fist gripped the steering wheel.

"It has, indeed, become a difficult place," Henry replied flatly.

"Then, someone sabotages Cady's car. Nearly kills her. Over what?" he half absently grumbled.

Henry's jaw flexed. The thought of almost losing his goddaughter to a texting accident angered him beyond words. And, between his trip to Kenya and Cady's accident, he'd been thinking a lot about how quickly life can change and how much is so often taken for granted.

"She should be out of the hospital by the end of the week." Walt sighed heavily. "This world's gone crazy, an' I don't know how much more I can take."

"You are a good man, Walt. A strong man." Henry reached to clasp his friend's shoulder. "Maheo does not give us more than we can handle. You will get through," he reassured.

Walt paused, then continued. "You've been different since you've been back."

"Different? How so?"

"Quieter. More serious. Working more."

Henry smirked. "That from a man who would rather work than keep company with a beautiful, spirited, _willing_ woman."

Walt snorted. He hadn't told him that he'd already crossed that barrier with Lizzie the night before the election. "I'm just saying, I've noticed a change, and if there's anything … I mean, if you need…aw, hell…"

Henry chuckled. "Do you remember when Julia and I came home, when we had everyone over?" Walt nodded slightly remembering the breathtaking photos and stories that were told. "I tried to explain it then, but it was difficult to put into words." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "As a society, we take a great deal for granted. We complain about all that we do not have when we should appreciate, even celebrate, all that we do have." He shook his head and sighed. "I always thought I understood poverty, survival, but not the level that I saw over there. But, that is not what struck me the most. Even with what little they have, their struggle, they celebrate life; embrace it, dance and sing." Henry's face shone with the passion of his words. "We should all experience that."

"Like that picture on your mantel. The one of you and Julia with the tribe in Mandera. Looked like a big party."

Henry nodded. One of his favorites. It was mostly of faces tipped to the sky in song and smiles. A group photo of him, Julia and the tribe, dancing. The feeling exuded through the frozen image. "It was spontaneous. Brooke took the picture."

There was a long silence as trees whizzed by.

"How do you appreciate almost losing your child?" Walt nearly whispered.

"By recognizing that she is still alive." Henry tipped his head, gazing out the window as another round of silence passed through the truck. "I am going to ask Julia to marry me."

Walt jerked, swerved, hitting the soft shoulder of the highway, and quickly straightened back.

"What?" he choked then shook his head. "Should'a seen that coming."

Henry's thin lips curved up slightly at the corners.

Pulling off the road and onto another gravel drive, Henry's brows furrowed at the log cabin in front of them.

"Why are we here?" he asked suspiciously.

"I need his help, too," Walt replied swinging the driver's door open as a middle-aged, medium built man in a well-worn, light green, gabardine hunting vest and khaki cargo pants stepped onto the rough-hewn balcony of the rustic cabin, shotgun over his shoulder. "Omar," Walt greeted.

"What's he doing here?" Omar motioned with the tip of his rifle as Henry swung the passenger door open.

"Best tracker I know," Walt answered.

Omar grunted as he stepped down the stairs toward the truck. "I gotta sit in the front. Bum knee."

Henry eyed him contemptuously but obligingly moved to the rear seat. It wasn't worth fighting about.

"You know the murder of that game warden couple of days ago? Over the poaching of an elk?" Walk began now that both men were in the truck. "Well, I got a line on the guy who did it. A fella who acts as a guide for a couple of hunting companies in town. One of the outfits says he's up near Piedmont Falls scouting fishing holes. Thought we'd go up and track him down."

Henry scowled from the back seat. He felt for the young warden and his family, and there was not much lower than hunting an animal out of season, except killing it and leaving most of the carcass behind as this poacher had done. Only certain parts of the animal had been harvested and the rest left to rot. Henry's jaw clenched. He looked forward to this.

xxxxxx

"You and me, hunnn, darlin'?" Carl grinned, his southern drawl dripping charm as I stepped into the unexpectedly modern kitchen of the Red Pony.

He already had pots rattling on the stove and a plastic bin of something on the prep counter. The man stood barely five-seven, with a short-cropped hair speckled with gray, though he was only in his mid-forties. His black Tennessee Whiskey t-shirt was loose over the top of ancient Wranglers as he leaned his wiry body onto his elbows on the counter.

"What's on the menu today?" I asked moving to the stove and lifting a lid, sniffing.

"Beef stew with buttermilk biscuits an' caramel pudding." He came up beside me, one hand on his lean hip, the other slowly pushing the lid back down. "It'll cook faster with the lid on."

"Trying to get rid of me already?" I teased with a playful pout.

"Not a chance." His grin showed an engaging little dimple in his right cheek.

Carl was the type of man who quietly sat on the fringes watching people, and enjoyed it. He liked his solitude, but never minded a bit a company. He was efficient, almost obsessive, about his work and work space. And, was a fantastic cook often being approached by rival restaurants, to which he always declined. He'd made it clear that he enjoyed life at the Red Pony and had no intention of leaving. He'd even tried (and succeeded) in making a few of my favorite Kenyan dishes. Yay!

"What can I do to help?" I turned to find him closer than I expected and could smell the Old Spice soap he'd used in his morning shower. There was an unmoving second before he drew himself back to the moment and retreated.

"Tins are over there." He pointed to a stack of round, aluminum take-out tins as he returned to the stove. "We'll put the stew in those, the biscuit in plastic wrap, an' the pudding in those half-cup containers we use for coleslaw. I'm glad to say, most of the folks recycle what we send. 'nita collects most of the tins an' cups, an' they get a good steam wash here. It'd be a waste if it all ended up in the trash." He stirred the pot. "Pass me that container." He motioned to the plastic bin on the counter.

The preparation for the stew was easy. The leftover vegetables had been parboiled and refrigerated during the week, and the meat and gravy had been put on to slow cook the night before. It was just a matter of mixing the two together and making sure the veggies were soft enough. Then, the stew was poured into the tins, and the rest up got wrap. Carl and I were done in less than two hours, and together we loaded my little Escort.

"You need anything else, you let me know. Got my cell number?" he asked while sliding the last box into the back seat. As I pulled out my phone, gentle fingers lifted it from my hand, and he deftly keyed in his number. "That'll do it. Drive safe." He absently tapped the roof of the car as I moved to the driver's side.

Pulling out of the packed-dirt lot, I glanced in the rear view mirror. Carl stood watching with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. As I turned onto the highway, he lowered his head and went back to the kitchen. Prep for the lunch crowd had to be started.

xxxxxxx

"Aw for Pete's sake, stop yer moanin'," Omar grumbled as he helped Henry hobble into the emergency room, Henry's arm swung over his shoulder for balance.

"I am not moaning. And, Pete has nothing to do with this. If you had not distracted me, I would not have stepped into a hole with four-inch wooden spikes in it." Angry annoyance was clear as pain shot from Henry's calf to hip.

"Yer moanin'." Omar unceremoniously dropped him into a moulded plastic seat and waved toward a nurse. "I thought you were such a great tracker. Couldn't ya see there was a trap?"

"I would have had you not been talking so much."

"Yadda yadda yadda, we caught the guy, didn't we?"

Henry scowled. Yes, they'd caught the man and he was presently sitting in the back of Walt's truck outside the emergency room doors. Walt had insisted on driving Henry to the hospital before taking him to jail.

"Think you can handle it from here?" Omar grinned at the pretty young nurse who came to look at Henry's leg. "Walt wants to get that guy to the station."

"I will be fine," Henry muttered to Omar's already retreating back.

"Hunting accident?" the nurse asked as she knelt in front of Henry taking a quick look at the wound.

"You could say."


	3. Chapter 3 Tension In The Ranks

**3 – Tension In The Ranks **

Henry hissed sharply. His back arched. Hair matted and mussed. Sweat beaded over his already slick skin. His breath was short and shallow. Heart thundering against his ribs. Every muscle in his body tensed as he gripped air, his legs cramping, eyes rolling back in his skull. He groaned loud, shook, and then was still.

"You okay?" I quietly asked in the darkness, my palm flat on his chest.

"I will be," was Henry's strained whisper. "When I can see again." He grinned. "Where did you learn that? My toes are curled to my knees." He struggled to breath, slowly inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth willing his body to unclench.

"Ahhh." I smiled, unstraddling his hips and curling to his side. "Some things are just instinct."

Henry chuckled lightly, cradling me under his arm. "You have amazing instincts." Gentle fingers stroked my back. "I will return the favor as soon as I can move again."

I grinned, mischievously propping onto an elbow and reaching to run my tongue up the center of his chest to his throat. "No hurry. We have all … night!" I squealed the last word as I was suddenly flipped onto my back and smothered with a breathtaking kiss.

Henry hopped around the living room pulling on a boot and trying to button his shirt at the same time. Not an easy task for anyone, less for someone still a little wobbly from the night before. Sugar sat in front of the hearth curiously watching the comical scene while I poured coffee into a travel mug.

"I blame you for this," he said taking a scalding sip.

"Me?" I snickered leaning back against the counter, arms folded across my chest. I was still wearing the pink tank top and cropped pj shorts that served as pyjamas. "I didn't do anything…you didn't beg for…" I wagged my eyebrows, grinning wickedly.

He quickly came around the counter scooping his right arm around my waist and planted a playful, wet kiss on my cheek.

"I am surprised I can walk," he laughed.

I smiled happily, cupping his cheek in my hand, stroking the freshly shaven face. "I plan to visit Cady today. Any message?"

"Just to get better soon." He gave me another peck then strode to the front door snatching the Rezdawg keys from the hook. "It's Kelly's night off. I'll be late."

He waved as the screen door snapped shut.

I grinned at Sugar. "It's almost noon. I think he's already late. Want to go for a ride?"

She was anxiously at the door waiting while I moved down the hall to change.

xxxxxxx

Since Cady's release from the hospital, she'd been staying at her father's. It was a nice drive out. Empty road. Sunshine with a dusting of clouds. The windows were rolled down, and Sugar sat in the back with her head up, eyes closed, allowing the breeze to bounce her ears around. I glanced in the rear view mirror and smiled. I could swear she was smiling. Such a sweet dog.

Pulling off the road and directly in front of Walt's partially-finished log cabin, I waved to Cady who sat on the front porch, casted foot propped on the wooden railing.

"Hey there!" she called returning the wave. "What brings you this way?"

"You do." I smiled, letting Sugar out of the back seat and grabbing the small cooler. "I hope you're up for a little company. I brought lemonade and sesame snaps."

"Still haven't mastered the chocolate chip cookie, have you?" she laughed.

I smiled back as I hauled myself up onto the stairless balcony. "One recipe. One." I held up a finger adamantly. "How could one recipe turn out differently each time? I guess it's for the better." I shrugged, settling into the vacant chair beside her. "I gained a lot of weight coming back to the States and no matter how much I work out; I can't seem to lose it."

"Food's that different?"

I rolled my eyes. "You have no idea."

We sat for an hour, chatting, enjoying the sun and company while Sugar sniffed around the yard, finally settling in the shade of the house. Cady and Walt had had a falling out shortly after New Year's, and she'd abruptly left town. No word to anyone. No contact for weeks. It had disturbed Walt – obviously, and as his friend, it had concerned Henry. But since her return, whatever had happened between her and her father seemed to have smoothed out, and their relationship was doing well. It was nice to see.

On the day of the elections, Cady and I had volunteered to drive residents from the Rez to their polling stations. That's how Cady got hurt. Her car got a flat, she tried to fix it, and was hit by another car. The driver had run off, leaving her in a ditch in critical condition. Walt was furious. But within days, the guy was caught, thank goodness, and Cady was on the mend.

"More?" I held up the pitcher of lemonade and Cady held up her glass to be refilled.

"You know, I've known Henry my whole life," Cady began, settling back in her seat. "I love him to death but men can be so stupid sometimes. I've seen him with women," she rambled. "I sometimes wonder what part of his body he thinks with… like with Deena…he did crazy things for her… because of her…I don't know…" She laughed at a memory. "Like this one time, out of the blue, he bought her a piano…" She drifted, then shook herself back realizing what she was saying. "Oh God, I mean…ummm… she wanted to learn, and well, Henry being Henry…"

I smirked and raised my brows, watching her fumble.

"I've met Deena. She's beautiful and looks like a handful. I'd be the crazy one to think that Henry didn't have a past," I finally said.

Cady rolled her eyes in relief. "Henry was crazy about her, but she took him for granted. Every move she made, she used him."

"I know," I said quietly. I'd heard the story. It bothered me.

"He's different with you. Not such a …" she stopped, chewing her bottom lip to think.

"Idiot? Fool? Dumbass?" I volunteered with a grin.

Cady laughed out loud, holding her bruised ribs. "I was going to say _dog_, but I like yours better."

xxxxxxx

There were cars in the driveway in the hot, mid-afternoon – lots of them. Black and brown sedans. Men in suits and shades, milling about. It looked like a scene from a movie. My stomach knotted. What now? I'd been assured that my part in the UN would be minimal from now on.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" I asked pulling my little Escort in front of the balcony, effectively blocking the steps.

"We're looking for Henry Standing Bear." A large, middle-aged man in a charcoal suit approached, paper in hand. "We have a warrant to search the premises."

"Excuse me?" I choked, shocked. "Search? For what?" I let Sugar out of the backseat.

"That's none of your concern, Ma'am." The man in charge brusquely pushed a piece of paper into my hands, shouldered past, and strode up the stairs.

Sugar beat him up and sat in front of the door facing him, unmoving, even as the man tried to open it.

"Ma'am, call your dog," he flatly instructed.

"No," I absently answered as I unfolded the document to scan it. "I want to read this first, then we'll see."

The senior officer huffed. "I have my orders. Move the dog." He tried to open the door again.

"No." I slowly came up the stairs behind him and sat on the porch swing, taking my time to read the document, obviously irritating the men who were waiting.

The officer tried to physically push Sugar out of the way but was met with a determine anchor and a snarl.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I quietly warned, eyes not leaving the paper. "I have no intention of interfering with your investigation if the documentation is in proper order and in accordance with the declaration of human rights. I'm sure you are often met with people who either resist or blindly allow you to invade their homes, even with a warrant. I plan to do neither. I simply want to understand what this is about, seeing as you want access to my home without telling me why."

"You live here." More a statement than a question.

"Yes." I folded the paper and approached the men. From the top of the stairs, I spoke to the group. "Yes. I live here, too. Your warrant is for Henry's property though the reason is unclear. I cannot stop you from searching, but I do request that you be respectful in my home. I hope this is understood."

The men nodded, but I wondered who was actually listening or, for that matter, cared.

"Sugar, stand down," I instructed and my guard stepped aside.

The officer in charge reached for the door handle, but I beat him to it. Lowering my voice to calm and authoritative, I spoke quietly directly to him. "This is my home. You and your men are welcome to conduct your search but you are to treat this place with proper decorum. Is that understood?"

"You can wait outside." He returned my tone.

"No. I will not." I countered. I'd dealt with men like him before, even worse. Those who think the world bows to a badge. I have respect for authority, but will stand up against those who use it to intimidate. He was pushing it.

I stood in the center of the house, stock still, Sugar at my side, as the men moved from room to room, going through the bookcase, rifling through drawers and closets. Such a violation. One officer dumped the contents of the desk drawer onto the living room floor, rummaged through it, then stood leaving the mess where it was. I stopped him, politely requesting that he put it back. At first, he gave me an insolent look, but then reluctantly shoved the contents back in the drawer and slid it back into the desk.

The boss joined me, eyes roaming the room when he glanced at the pictures on the mantle. He moved toward them and picked one up.

"This is you." He waved the picture at me. "Blue beret. Peacekeeper." I could tell he was a bit surprised. "Where was this taken?"

I gazed at him. He was trying to distract me. "Northern Kenya. Somalian border."

"Rank?"

"Depends on whether you're military or civilian?"

He gave me a puzzled look.

"Sir. We found this laptop in what looks like an office. Password protected. Other equipment, too."

"Bag it," the senior officer ordered.

"No." I turned my head to the younger man. "That office is mine, as is the equipment. The warrant does not extend to my belongings."

"It's evidence," the boss stated.

"No, it's a secure mainframe for confidential work," I contested.

He was about to argue when a second young officer came forward with my Go bag.

"Sir, you may want to see this."

The older man huffed, grabbing the bag and holding it up. It was covered with unit patches. Some dating back thirty years. His brow furrowed as he curiously studied them , then opened the bag and dug inside. Pulling out my credentials, he flipped them open.

By now the team had congregated in the living room having found nothing incriminating in their search.

"Director," the older officer said gazing at the photo on the UN passport. "Director Julia Farine. Department of Peacekeeping Affairs. Humanitarian Affairs Emergency Relief." He flipped through. "Genève Aeroport," he struggled, "Heathrow International, Nairobi International, Flug … Flughafen Stuttgard … Where's that?" he muttered flipping through the other pages, reading other stamps.

"Germany," I flatly answered.

"You're well-travelled." He raised his head. "What brings you here?"

"A little Ford Escort… and too many bullet holes."

He cocked his head slightly. He may have expected the first part, but hadn't expected the second. "How long have you known Mr. Standing Bear?"

"A year."

He hmmed, returned the passport to the bag and the picture to the mantle. He stopped to look at the others - the ones Henry and I had taken in Kenya - the team, Mama Malah, the tribe and us dancing in Mandera, me and Kuru, Henry helping at the UNESCO site in Turkana County.

"Whatever you suspect Henry did, maybe you're wrong," I quietly stated.

The man said nothing as he signaled the team's retreat from the house.

I stood on the balcony curiously watching the cars pull out. What was that all about? Then, it occurred to me, and I gasped. The cars I'd passed heading to Walt's as I left Cady. I pulled out my phone and called the Red Pony. There was no answer. Then, I called Cady. No answer. The Sheriff's office was next. No answer.

My heart rose in my throat as I grabbed Sugar's bag from the kitchen cupboard and headed for the car.

_What the hell was going on?_


	4. Chapter 4 Surprises

**4 – Surprises**

Unreal. Absolutely unreal. Walt's home had been turned upside down. Cady was a wreck, hobbling around the mess, dazed, clutching a tea box to her chest as if her life depended on it. Walt had been by to check on her but was now madly dashing after Matthias who had apparently arrested Henry and was delivering him to Detective Fales' custody – extraditing him to Denver, Colorado – out of Walt's jurisdiction. Walt wasn't about to let that happen.

My head was spinning. Murder? Henry had been arrested for murder? Did I know nothing about human nature? Did I miss something? No. Not this man. I refused to believe it. The man I knew was a man of integrity. Loyal. Honest. Steady. He could never…

After helping Cady straighten Walt's home, putting books back on the shelves, contents back in drawers, reversing the destructive, disrespectful abuse of authority, I left her in Sugar's care and moved on to the Red Pony.

The commotion was tangible even on approach. Carl, the staff, and a collection of customers and onlookers were gathered in the front parking lot, shock and anger on their faces. Carl paced small circles, running a rough hand through his cropped hair and over his face, steely eyes resentfully following the comings and goings of the searching officers. When he saw the Escort race up and skid to a halt, kicking dust in its wake, he determinedly strode over.

"You should see the place!" His hands flew into the air. "They trashed it! I can't believe it!" He continued to pace, shaking his head. "Un-freakin' real! No way Henry did this! No way!"

"Why would they think he did? Who's conducting the search? Did anyone read the warrant?"

He shrugged. "Henry didn't even say anything. Didn't interfere. Just let them start tearing the place apart." He stopped in front of me. "Matthias. Matthias was the arresting officer. Him and his crew of thugs and Feds." Anger seethed out his pores. "Him and Henry aren't best friends or anything, but I never figured this. They won't let us back in. Won't tell us anything. And, they've already taken Henry away. In cuffs!" His hands were in the air again.

Abruptly stopping, he inhaled deeply tipping his head to the cloudless sky, trying to compose himself.

"Walt's gone after him," I reassured diving deep into the depths of my "calm" reserve. "He'll figure things out. Right now, I'll see what I can do about getting you in to close things up when they're done. Has anyone called Kelly?"

Carl nodded. "Got her machine. They're not listening to anyone," he snorted derisively, jutting his chin to the bar.

I tugged a strained smile from thin air. "You forget what I do for a living. And, it doesn't hurt to try."

Fifteen minutes later, under close supervision, Carl and I were finally permitted in to close the restaurant. The main area was largely untouched, but the bar and Henry's office were a catastrophe. Whatever they had been looking for, they'd obviously found. My stomach roiled. Thoughts. Uncertainty. Confusion. Hot , angry tears beginning to shimmer.

"There's no way." Carl said quietly putting a comforting hand on my shoulder, giving it a rub as I stood in the doorway of the disaster zone. "I've worked for Henry a long time. There's no way he could have done what he's been accused of."

"Murder. Who?" My voice was barely a whisper.

Carl paused, swallowed hard. "Some meth-head in Denver 'bout a year ago."

"And, why would he be accused of that?"

Carl shrugged. "I don't know much, but they found teeth in a medicine pouch Henry had in his office."

I slowly turned my head over my left shoulder to look at him. "He had his teeth?"

"He had teeth. Whose? I don't know. I kept my ears open when I was inside, but they moved us out and took Henry away right after they found them."

"In many cultures, teeth are considered a trophy." I closed my eyes against what my logical brain was telling me. "I can't believe this."

xxxxxxx

Henry sat alone in the nearly empty courtyard of the Tri-County Jail, fresh bruises beginning to rise on his left cheek and jaw, his right arm hugging tender ribs. The beatings were a daily ritual since his arrival four days ago. Maliki's way of sending a message, not only for Henry to cooperate but to Walt, as well. The former Tribal Police Chief had gathered the clan in prison and formed a united brotherhood. Their motto – Go red or go dead, was something Henry heard often. A whispered warning in the meal line or a straight out comment accompanied by punches. It didn't matter. He would stick to his beliefs. People should have the right to choose who they keep company with. Henry's loyalty to Walt was something rooted deep in the past and cemented by events in the present. He would choose his own friends.

"Hey, Shiny Apple. Long time, no see." Mica's voice sounded clear over the empty space. The guards were suddenly absent. "My turn," was his malevolent taunt.

Henry stood to face his assailant. Shoulders back. Hands fisted by his sides. Jaw firmly set. He'd fight back. Of all people, Henry had no problem fighting Mica. Mica had kidnapped and beaten Julia in the fall, putting her in the hospital. Julia, even bound and blindfolded had managed to kick his ass. Then, Henry had a turn until Matthias and Walt pulled him off. As Mica saw it, though, he was in jail because a white woman and a red man went against him. He would not forget.

Henry said nothing as Mica began the dance. Taunting. Circling. A sudden provoking push to his shoulder. And, just as Henry raised his fist to strike back, a third Indian appeared, grabbing hold of Henry's wrist, pushing Mica away.

"Guard in the tower is watching," he quietly warned the younger man.

Mica glared at the two, huffed, then skulked off, while the newcomer turned to Henry.

"Watch your back. They're taking turns. I've got four months left, then I'm out. I can't help you, but I won't turn on you. Mary told me what you're doing for my son. Keeping an eye out, giving him a job, keeping him straight in school. I appreciate it."

Frank Two-Feather. Tommy's father. Henry had intervened last spring when Tommy was caught stealing cookies at the Busy Bee. The boy still worked at the Red Pony after school and on weekends and kept asking Henry when they were going to start the youth center on the Rez. Tommy was one of the main reasons for the project. Him and boys like him who had a fighting chance at a better life if only given the opportunity.

"Thank you." Henry gave a curt, polite nod to the man as they parted ways.

xxxxxxx

Walt sat in the visitors' room Sunday afternoon, waiting. He, Ferg and Julia had been taking turns filling Henry's place at the Red Pony, after being given the okay to re-open. Kelly had been pulling double shifts to keep on top of things, and Carl was putting in as much overtime as he could to help.

The bail hearing had been on Friday, and it hadn't been encouraging. Cady had been given the weekend to put together a reasonable case, but she was left discouraged by the judge's obvious prejudiced attitude. Last night, in an act of desperation, she and Julia had gathered Henry's friends and supporters, and Cady spent the evening taking depositions. Somewhere in that group had to be someone well-spoken enough to stand up for Henry. Something more than "he's a good guy".

When Henry was escorted in, Walt stood, looking at his beaten friend, heat and anger rising in his usually stoic face.

"Tell me who," he quietly demanded.

Henry held out his right hand, palm down, and slowly swept it from left to right an inch off the table. A silent sign of _leave it alone_.

"I am confident that the novelty of beating up the new guy will wear off in time," he said, straight-faced.

"Hopefully you won't be in here much longer. You're bail hearing is tomorrow at four. Cady should have something by then. I don't know why you won't let Julia speak for you."

Henry's eyes hardened. "No." His voice was firm. "She is not to visit. She is not to speak for me. She is not to come near me during this, not even to the courtroom. Is that understood?"

"I don't see why. Of all people, Julia has the expertise to …"

"No." Henry abruptly stood. "I will not have her reputation tainted by this."

"Have you spoken to her at all? What does she have to say about it?"

"No. I have sent word through Cady, and Julia understands. She is not happy about it, but she will do as I ask. Cady said that they had a party last night." He smiled thinly as he reclaimed his seat. "With all of my friends."

Walt snorted at the tabletop and shook his head. "Ya, wild night," he deadpanned.

xxxxxxx

Cady had produced one hundred and twenty-five affidavits in Henry's defence and had the strongest supporter speak. On the stand, May Stillwater told the story of how her daughter, Lily, had run away two years previously, and no one, not even the Tribal Police would help find her. No one, until Henry. She fervently explained to the judge how Henry and his friend had taken it upon themselves to step in where no one else had. They had found Lily and brought her home, saving her from a life of prostitution. When asked if she thought Henry would flee, May became indignant_. Never_. When asked why, she turned to speak directly to the judge. Henry's last name – Standing Bear – was why. When a bear stands, it's to protect, not run. Henry stands up for his people, she passionately exclaimed. He would never run.

Cady was thrilled with the deposition, and Henry sat proudly facing May, but when the judge returned with the verdict, they were in shock. Bail was set at a million dollars. He didn't have that kind of money. Deena had stolen his stash from the safe in his office, over forty thousand dollars. He snorted. A woman scorned. Even with the fundraising that Cady had done, there still wasn't enough. His heart sank.

xxxxxxx

Cady sat at a table in the Red Pony, her head in her hands, sipping a fresh beer that Kelly had brought over, looking at the tally of funds that she had been able to scrape together: Henry's life savings or what was left of it, Walt's retirement fund, Julia's meagre earnings from her work at the colleges, the money that had been raised on Saturday night. The bail bondsman had put up ninety percent, but she still only had about half of what was needed. Not enough. Her forehead sagged to the table. Not enough.

A chair scraped the floor and her head popped up, half expecting to see her dad. But, it was Branch.

"Bad day?" he asked, settling himself across from her.

Cady snorted and shook her head, then sadly explained her predicament.

For a moment, they silently sat; Cady watching her hands, Branch watching Cady. Then, he slowly pulled out his cheque book and wrote a payment for the full amount, pushing the slip of paper toward the woman he loved. He'd do this for her, but somewhere deep in his gut, some place that he wouldn't acknowledge just yet, he was doing it for Henry, too, for what the man stood for, for what he grudgingly admired.

Kelly watched on from the bar, seeing the transaction. Oh, Henry would not be pleased.


	5. Chapter 5 The Bear Stands

**5 – The Bear Stands**

Tears of frustration welled behind defensive eyes. He wouldn't speak with me. He wouldn't let me attend his bail hearing. He didn't want me anywhere near him. Any news I had came from Cady or Walt, which was precious little. Walt was...well...Walt. And Cady was bound by attorney-client confidentiality. I even tried to speak with Matthias, which was a big mistake. I always thought we got along okay. But, he gave me the cold shoulder, and brushed me off. No information, and a lot of hostility.

I sat on the end of the padded bench in the semi-crowded gym, pumping the fifteen pound dumbbells ten more times, feeling the strain in my left shoulder. A constant reminder that not everything goes as planned. I snorted absently. Like a needed to be reminded. I had my earphones in; my eyes were shut counting the reps, focusing on working through the pain. I could sense the comings and goings of people around me. There was always some kind of movement as the clientele shifted to different machines. But, then, a shadow was cast, and I opened my eyes to a bulky, tattooed Indian standing before me, flexing his meaty fingers.

"Your boyfriend ain't gonna last the week," he warned with a malevolent smirk. "An' you don't belong on the Rez. Best get off while you still can."

That sounded like a threat. I didn't like threats. Carefully bending to place the dumbbells by my feet, I stood to defiantly face the man, activity around us stopping to watch, anticipating the confrontation, having seen the news. I pressed my lips together for control but suddenly felt very tired and strangely disheartened.

After a moment, I slowly responded. "I know I don't belong. I've been to a lot of places and seen a lot of things. I've had a lot of experiences, but the one thing I haven't had since I was a kid was a home. I thought I'd found one here." I paused, taking a second to look into the man's eyes, trying to see a flicker of human compassion. There was none. "You know, I wouldn't be good at my job if race or color was an issue. I see a person for who they are, not the package they come in. I get along with a lot of people, even on the Rez. But, I know, I don't truly belong. I don't belong anywhere."

Ahhh, the flicker. He was a bit surprised by my confession, but regained himself quickly. "Then move," he quietly growled.

"Where?" I impassively replied with a slight shrug. "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I don't care. Get in that little camper of yours and go. You're not wanted here."

I pressed my lips together, nodding slowly. "Maybe you're right."

The vandalism in the yard, the derogatory yelling from the occupants of pick-ups as they sped past the house had me worried. I had reported it to Matthias who had just brushed it off, saying there was nothing he could do. I wasn't going to mention it to Walt. He already had his hands full with Henry. And then, there was Henry who had enough to deal with. I couldn't burden him with this.

The man turned and left, satisfied, and I stood there feeling completely drained of energy, you know, that empty feeling you get when your soul feels abandoned. After a few seconds, I moved to the locker room and grabbed my bag, not even bothering to change, I just left the gym. At the car, tossed my bag in the backseat and let Sugar out, hooking on her harness. She looked up at me expectantly, sensing that something was wrong, and we began to walk toward the center of Durant.

I had come to love this little town. The people. The quiet activity. I had made friends here. Not something I thought would happen, but it did. People who liked me for me, not for what I did or what I could get them, or what I could do for them. But, for me. Just me. This had become home.

A flush crept up my neck, and my fist tightened on the leash. Who was this guy to tell me I didn't belong? And, what was wrong with me to believe him? What was wrong with me to think I didn't deserve to have a home and be happy?

My bout of self-pity quickly turned to anger - at myself for lack of confidence, at Henry for shutting me out, at Matthias for his disregard, at Walt for being reclusive, at the system for turning their back on human decency. The one thing I had managed to get from Cady, and it had been a slip on her part, was that Henry had been beaten up in jail and the guards had done nothing to stop or prevent it. It infuriated me.

Sugar kept up valiantly with my increasing pace and by the time we reached the town square, we were both ready to stop. I plunked myself down on a park bench near the center of the square in the shade of a flowering dogwood, and inhaled the comforting, fragrant scent. Sugar collapsed in the cool grass beside me, panting.

I stared at the people: the old men playing chess, the young mothers chatting while pushing strollers, the business people and shoppers. After what felt like an eternity, I felt the seat shift and thought _what now?_

"You are troubled," a creaky voice said.

I turned my head to see the aged crone, Maggie, and her scraggly dog on the other end of the bench. I hadn't seen them in months, but she still wore the same tattered, woollen sweater.

She sighed as if she felt the weight of my world. "Believe with your heart. Your head can deceive but your heart will always be true."

I nodded slowly and we sat silently for a few moments before she got up to leave.

Believe with my heart. My heart says stay. My heart says believe. Believe in myself. Believe in Henry. Believe in the people around me.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

"When is your dad picking Henry up?"

xxxxxxx

The rest of the day was spent on the phone making arrangements. It would be a small gathering, just a few friends and family: me, Cady, Walt, Yvonne and Lester. Walt wasn't sure if Henry would be receptive to it, but Yvonne and Lester were encouraged. They'd even drilled the kids on what not to say. Carl and Kelly were invited and wanted to come, but felt they would show more support by continuing to hold down the fort at the Red Pony. Carl, however, insisted on making Henry's favorite potato salad. I'd bought some thick rib-eyes and spent the following morning cleaning the house, changing the sheets, skewering vegetables, and marinating the meat.

Henry had been in jail for two weeks. I thought a barbeque would be a perfect homecoming. Something normal in this abnormal situation.

"They're here! They're here!" Marcus yelled, leaping from the back deck and racing to the front drive, older sister, Layla, trailing behind but not by much. Both children were excited to have Uncle Henry home.

Sugar was already positioned in the front yard having heard Walt's truck on the road and was prancing around the driver's side anxiously waiting for him to get out. He smiled as he swung the door open, giving her ears a scratch, quietly telling her that Henry was on the other side. She bolted to the passenger side and joined the children in greeting him.

"Look, Uncle Henry." Marcus tipped his head far back to look up at his tall uncle; he stuck a pudgy finger in his mouth to wiggle a loose tooth. "Mommy says when it comes out I'll get money for it." His onyx eyes shone as he kept working at the tooth.

Henry knelt to his small nephew, running his thumb gently over a bruise and scrape on his chin.

"How did you get this?" he asked seriously.

Marcus rolled his eyes as if the answer was completely obvious. "Same way I got this." He wiggled his tooth again. "I falled down."

Layla finally spoke with a laugh and dramatic flair. "Ya. You should have seen it. Face first into the ground. Blood everywhere."

Henry stood, smiled weakly and nodded, satisfied that no one had taken retaliation on his family.

"Come," Layla said taking Henry's hand. "We're having a barbeque, and Julia's cooking."

"Ya." Marcus chatted on as five-year-olds do. "There's potato salad, an' hot dogs, an' cut up vegetables." He made an icky face. "An' Julia even made a strawberry cake for dessert. It looks really good." His eyes were big, black saucers.

"The hot dogs are for us. You guys are having steak." Layla maturely corrected as they reached the back yard.

"Julia is cooking steak?" Henry was a bit surprised and a little worried. Julia rarely ate beef. It was something her system could never get used to after twenty-five years in East Africa. She rarely cooked it.

"Don't worry, Brother." Lester stood from the folding patio chair, reaching out his hand and pulling Henry into a one-armed man-hug, slapping his brother-in-law on the back. "I'm taking care of the steaks… unless you want to." The lean man's smile was broad and friendly.

Henry's serious countenance softened slightly, his lips twitching up slowly at the corner.

"No. You can do it."

Henry greeted the rest of the guests stiffly, finally getting around to me. Drawing me into a rigid hug, he dropped his face to my ear and whispered, "I wish you hadn't."

I stepped back and cupped his face lovingly, passing my thumb across a faded bruise on his left cheek. "Welcome home," my voice was soft.

The food was great. Lester took control of the barbeque while Yvonne, Cady, and I set the rest of the food on a 3x6 foot board I'd found in the garage, cleaned up, and covered. It served as a buffet table. Carl had helped set it up in the late morning when he dropped off the salad. I wished he could have stayed.

As it was, the evening didn't go as I had hoped and didn't last long. Try as we may, and ignore if we had to, Henry's mood didn't change. He was quiet and withdrawn. Maybe Walt was right. It was too soon. It was like we were dancing on glass. The conversation was forced and awkward. Not the way it should have been with family. Even the children gave up and went to play with the dog. By 8pm, people started to make excuses.

Cady was the first to leave claiming an early start to the next day. Yvonne, Lester, and the kids, were next.

Walt and Henry sat on the back deck sipping beers, watching a couple of hawks circle the sky looking for their evening meal, saying nothing, while I cleaned up the kitchen. I wanted to reach out, give my comfort and support, but he was still withdrawn. I'd wait. Give him the space he obviously needed.

Finally, Henry entered the kitchen.

"Do you mind if Sugar stays with Walt tonight?"

I was taken aback, and my brow furrowed. "Um, I guess not? Why?"

Without answering, he moved to the cupboard that held Sugar's Go bag and took it out, quickly checking the contents.

"Henry, what's going on?" I asked as he silently moved back outside to where Walt sat, Sugar stretched out beside him. I followed, confused. "Henry, what's going on?" I repeated a bit more forcefully.

Henry turned to me as Walt stared across the flat prairie, slowly finishing his beer.

"We need to talk and it best be done without distraction or interference," was Henry's stoic response.

"Without distraction or interference?" I was thoroughly confused.

Walt rose, gently placing the empty can on a low, wooden table.

"I'll take that as my cue. You okay with this?" He held up Sugar's bag and motioned to the dog who was now alert to the goings-on around her.

"Not really, but I trust Henry."

Walt gave a single nod. "Thanks for dinner."

I bent to give Sugar a pat and a hug, my smile strained and she knew it. "You have fun at Walt's." I said cheerily as if speaking to a child going on a sleep-over at a friend's. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Walt's truck pulled out, I turned to Henry who had retreated to the inner sanctum of the house.

I followed.

"Okay. What's going on?" I firmly asked to his back as he stared at the pictures on the mantle.

There was silence, and I waited. Finally, he spoke.

"I want you to move out." He turned to sternly face me, arms loose by his side.

"What?" was my baffled response.

"This is not going to work. I want you to move out," he repeated stone-faced.

"What?" I blinked, trying to process the information.

He took an angry step forward, and I reflexively retreated. "I thought I was quite clear. I want you to leave. Pack your things. Get in your camper, and go. I thought you may have already figured that out when I refused to talk with you these past weeks. But for someone so smart, you truly did not get the message."

I was stunned. My heart rising painfully to my throat.

"You can't mean that," I whispered, my breath growing short.

He turned his back and walked to the mantle, left arm leaning against, right thumb hooked in the waistband on his jeans, hip hitched to the side nonchalantly.

"It was fun while it lasted. Certainly interesting. But, time is up. Time for me to move on." He refused to look my way.

I shook my head, not knowing what to say. We silently stood, each waiting. Finally, I took a tentative step forward, reaching my hand to his shoulder. Before I could speak, he spun, knocking me off balance, sending me stumbling backwards.

"What the hell?!" I finally yelled tripping over the end of the sofa. "This isn't right. We don't go through what we've been through and end it so … so…" I sighed hard. "I deserve an explanation," I growled.

"Fine." He turned on me. "I was in jail for murder. A murder that I did not commit but someone did. I am out on one million dollars bail. A million dollars that I do not have. I have a business that I have had for over twenty years that I may very well lose. And, I have to wear this." He angrily pulled up his pant leg to show a GPS tracking device. He ground his teeth. "I am limited to a one mile radius. Years, I have walked free, and now this! I have had enough. I do not need you around. I do not want to have you here." We were nose to nose, and I hadn't backed off this time.

"Too bad," I shot back. "I'm not going to leave because things got hard. It's not my way. We'll work this out. I'm not going to turn my back on you. I'm not going to run."

We stood facing each other breathing heavily with dwindling anger. I could see the wheels of his mind working through whatever he was dealing with but unwilling to say.

"You have to go," he quietly reiterated.

"No," I matched his tone.

Defeated, he lowered his forehead to mine, his hands rising to gently touch my arms, his eyes closed.

"You have to go," he barely whispered. "I cannot protect you here."


	6. Chapter 6 Choices

**6 – Choices**

We talked through the night, and when we weren't talking, we held onto each other drawing strength, and when we weren't holding onto each other, we made love. By the time first light glowed over the grim horizon, I had come to terms with Henry's decision. Every argument I made, every self-supporting point I brought up was challenged and won by Henry's stronger, more thought-through rebuttals. What I hated most was that I understood; I just didn't like it.

I had to leave.

With my bags packed and stowed in the Prolite that was hitched to the back of my little Ford Escort, we said our good-byes inside, out of sight of anyone who may have been watching.

My heart was breaking as I reached to stoke his stubbly cheek. Tired creases at the corners of his eyes. Worry lines around his mouth. With all the talking we had done, I was reminded of the first time we met. Over a pup. His voice: calm and soothing. The voice that could appease the most skittish heart. The voice that had calmed mine and drew me into a safe haven. The first thing I'd fallen in love with.

"You know," I tried to force a smile, my lips struggling to turn up. "It's never good-bye."

He closed his eyes for a long second, inhaling deeply. Then opening them, he said on a breath, "Until we meet again."

Our kiss was soft and deep. We poured every ounce of our souls into it, sharing the deepest depths of ourselves. No stone unturned. No hidden compartments. No brick walls. All of it had come tumbling down in the past year. He had chipped my defences away piece by piece and now my bare heart was exposed and breaking again. How could I do this?

At the sound of tires crushing the gravel drive, we drew apart.

"Your escort is here." Henry brushed his lips to mine one last time.

I nodded slightly, placing the flat of my palm on his chest, backing away. Pushing through the screen door to the gloomy day ahead, I heard it snap shut as Henry joined me on the porch, hands tucked into his pockets.

"Ready to go," Matthias asked as he and his deputy stood near the Tribal Police Jeep, carefully watching the scene.

I nodded, descending the stairs and walking toward the car, tears shimmering, but I swallowed them down hard. I turned one last time to Henry. His stony face revealed nothing as he turned his back on me, returning to the house, slamming the thick, inner door shut.

I tapped into skills long left behind, hoping I would never have to use again. But, here I was putting emotion aside, doing what needed to be done. God, it hurt.

Matthias stood beside me, unexpectedly sympathetic. "I am sorry about this." He placed his hand on his hips. "You okay to drive?"

I turned my head to him and nodded, empty eyes staring beyond to the vast landscape.

"I'll miss this place," I said before heading to my car with a competent gait.

I could tell he was a bit taken aback by my detachment.

"Where's the dog?" he asked, quick strides to catch up.

"With the Sheriff? Henry knew we were going to fight. He didn't want Sugar upset by it."

As I swung the car door open, he placed a hand on the frame, and lowered his voice, asking, "Why are you leaving? I didn't think you where the type to walk away."

I stood for a moment, struggling to not show my real emotions, keeping my voice steady.

"I don't stay where I'm not wanted, and I can't help someone who doesn't want my help," I stated matter-of-factly. "Personally, I don't believe Henry is guilty of what he is accused of. However, I've only known him for a year, and this event happened before we met." I paused, ready to recite the practiced line. "My personal opinion is irrelevant. In my position, working for the UN, I have to be seen as above reproach. I can't be associated with this."

"Where are you going?"

"East. Back to New York, I guess. I may have retired, but it was voluntary. I'm sure they'll take me back if I ask."

Matthias nodded sincerely, but I caught a small smirk on his deputy's face. "We'll escort you off the Rez. Make sure you get to town okay."

xxxxxxx

It was barely 8am when I pulled up in front of Carmen's Bakery. I knew they weren't open yet, but was hoping Carmen was preparing in the back and would sell me one of the first batches of whole wheat for the trip. I'd packed a few things in a cooler from the fridge before Matthias arrived, but had a weakness for the comforting smell of fresh baked bread. She was there, thankfully, and though I didn't go into details, I let it be known that I was leaving; going back east to a job I missed. She was surprised but wished me luck and tossed in a couple of fresh blueberry muffins for the ride.

Fifteen minutes later, at the Sheriff's office, I took a deep breath at the bottom of the long flight of stairs to the portico. I was angry with Walt for going along with, even encouraging, Henry's decision. Understanding just wasn't enough to quell the frustration. I wanted to stay to help, to support, but Henry was determined that I go. His way of keeping me safe.

Finally making the climb, I opened the office door and hesitated in the entranceway. I hadn't expected a full house; everyone was there. Damn. I'd wanted a little privacy.

Sugar trotted over to greet me, tail wagging, and Walt lifted his head from over Vic's shoulder as they studied a document in her hands. Ferg called out a friendly "hello" and began badgering me with questions that I had no desire to answer. Ruby offered coffee or tea, but I shook my head as Walt ushered me past Branch and into his office.

"How could you go along with this?" I quietly turned on him as soon as the door was closed. "You knew he was going to try to push me away."

Walt pressed his lips together and lowered his head sheepishly – a guilty tell. "You see what's going on. It's not safe for you here," was his patient response.

"I understand, but pushing me away like that hurt and there was no need." I paced the small office, left hand on my hip, right raking through my hair. "We've worked out something else," I announced. "Planting seeds."

Walt eyed me cautiously. "But, you're still leaving."

"Yes," I grimly responded with a heavy sigh. "We called Matthias and had him escort me off the Rez. Made me look like the bad guy. Walking out on Henry. He seemed affected – even remorseful - by the situation, but his deputy seemed pleased." Walt nodded. A possible inside connection to Malachi. "I haven't told Henry exactly where I'm going, partially because I don't know, but also because he said the less he knows, the safer I would be. I won't be contacting him, just in case…" I stepped close, pointing into his chest. "But, I want him, and you, to focus on this… without distraction or interference." I tossed Henry's words at him. "Get this bastard. I wish there was something more I could do to help."

After a slight pause, Walt compassionately added. "You love him, don't you?"

"Very much." I swallowed hard, thinking. "I don't like this. I want to be here to support him."

Walt shook his head. "People are getting hurt, and we don't want you to be one of them. Technically, you don't live here. Few connections. It's easier for you to leave."

I pressed my lips together, blinking. Hearing the truth hurt_. I don't live here. No connections_. Except Henry, and all the people who have become part of my life.

"You know, this sounds selfish, but I didn't get to say good-bye to anyone again. Not Yvonne or the kids, not Cady, not Samantha or Ethan. I never thought I'd have to go through this kind of pain again. Leaving people behind."

Walt nodded sympathetically realizing his mistake. He hesitantly reached for my shoulder but didn't quite making contact, slowly withdrawing his hand. "I made you a promise when you first came here, and I plan on keepin' that promise. You'll be back. This _is_ your home now."

xxxxxxx

The I-90 East was long and straight, heading through Gillette, past the Black Hills National Forest in South Dakota, and more reservations. It was sad to see just how many people had been forcibly shoved onto such small parcels of land having spent hundreds of years free to roam. I could understand the resentment.

Stopping briefly at a rest area just outside Murdo, I gave Sugar a drink and let her out to pee while I stretched my legs and back and went to the restroom. It had been about five hours of nothing but endless flat land and brown grass, and we were only about half way through the state.

I checked my cell phone for messages before moving on. Nothing yet.

Adjutant Carine Polk was my go-to person at the Secretariat. If I needed anything, all I had to do was call. But, that was when I visited the city. This was different, and I didn't know if what I had asked was even within her jurisdiction. My fingers were crossed.

I had called Carine early that morning leaving a message on her machine that I was heading east again and to check her e-mail. Briefly explaining my route and that I needed help, I sent a list of former contacts that had been made over the years, wondering if any were close to the path that I had chosen.

She hadn't responded yet.

By early evening, Sugar and I reached Sioux Falls for another stop. Avoiding the city, we stuck to a picnic rest area just outside of town and had dinner from the cooler. I'd made good time, but it was also time to make a decision. I was now ten hours from Durant. If I continued on the I-90 East, it would take me out of South Dakota and into Minnesota. But, I could also go north to North Dakota or south to any number of states. While I tapped the map, struggling with the decision, my cell phone rang. I looked at the small screen and smiled.

"Hello, Carine," I answered hoping for good news.

"Hello, Director," the young Adjutant responded cheerily.

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Carine, I'm no longer a Director. You can call me Julia."

There was a slight pause on the other end. "Yes, Ma'am…umm, Julia. I have the information you requested. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No, I'm just being safe. Is it good news?"

"Well, Ma'am. That all depends. There was one person in Nebraska, but she's deployed. Iraq. A lot are just not around you or not close. But, there is one further south. A bit out of your way, but doable, I think. You had a star beside it."

My smile widened. A star. Top of my list. Someone I knew I could trust and rely on.

"Where?"

"Missouri. Is it okay? Shall I make initial contact?" she asked.

"Yes. Please. And, Carine, this is not official. I want that made clear, but I need asylum. A secure place to stay and a sweep of my car and trailer."

There was another worried pause. "Ma'am? Are you sure you're alright?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm just being careful. Make the call. I'm going to switch phones and call you later with the new number. By then you should be able to tell me if there are any problems."

"Switching phones? Now, I _am_ worried."

"I'm fine," I reassured.

"Okay." She didn't sound convinced. "I'm texting you the address. I hope it helps. Let me if you need anything else. Director or not, you still have privileges, and I'm always here for you. And, please, be safe," she implored.

"Thank you. I will." I let out a heavy sigh as I hung up and scrolled to the text message, writing the address on a slip of paper, then taking the battery out of my phone disabling the GPS.

_340 Richards Avenue, Belton, Missouri. _Another six hours away.


	7. Chapter 7 Feeling The Losses

A/N - For whatever reason, this was a tough one to write. It's not as long as I had hoped but felt to drag it out wouldn't do it any justice. Enjoy.

Dani

**7 – Feeling The Losses**

"What do you mean, _she's gone_? How could she be gone? What about last night's party? What happened?" Cady paused and lowered her voice in accusation. "What did you do?"

She stared at Henry in disbelief while sitting at the bar on his first day back to the Red Pony. Julia had become a big and important part of his life in the past year, and as far as Cady was concerned, they were perfect together. Okay, yes, there had been tension the evening before, but she figured it was just from his experience in jail, you know, first day out. Julia would help him through it. She was good at that.

Henry angrily shifted some glasses on the counter, slapping one down just a bit too hard, avoiding eye contact. This was going to be tough enough. He didn't need the questions, but it played right into the plan. Cady just didn't know it. Besides, he needed to get back to work as soon as possible; start sorting through his life and figuring out what could be done to salvage it. Dealing with past events – Malachi Strand, Martha's murder, Denver – that was all part of it. And, the quicker it was done, the quicker Julia could come home.

"We fought. That is all. She tries too hard to help. I do not want or need her help."

Cady shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she would just up and leave. Where did she go?"

"She has gone back east." He raised his head, glancing around to see who else may have been listening. After his experience, he had strong suspicions that Malachi had his tentacles out, still reaching into the community. Two years earlier, he had helped Walt arrest the Tribal Police Chief on extortion charges, one of several infractions the Federal authorities had laid against him. Walt was only too happy to make the arrest, with Henry as temporary deputy, but it had caused a lot of mistrust and further tension between the two police departments, and definitely resentment from Malachi. "Matthias escorted her off the Rez this morning. Now, if there is nothing more, I have work to do." He stalked away and down to the end of the counter with the glasses in hand.

Shaking her head, she turned to him for the last word. "You had Matthias escort her off the Rez? Oh, Henry. That was cruel."

Henry's jaw tightened as he turned back. He had hated doing it but it had been Julia's idea, _stronger impact_, she'd said. "I wanted to make sure she was gone."

xxxxxxx

Malachi Strand was dressed in a bright orange, Tri-County Jail jumpsuit, his hands cuffed and loosely folded on his lap as he sat at the cold, metal table in the prison visitors' room. He was calm, like a man in complete control of his situation regardless of his present incarceration. The man across from him, though slightly hunched, easily stood at six four weighing over two hundred pounds, his long black hair neatly braided and hanging down his wide back. The former Tribal Police Chief sat stock-still and confident, waiting, as the man spoke of what had transpired since their last communication.

"And, you're sure she's left town?" he calmly asked, a godfather overseeing his domain while away.

"Yes." The younger man nodded. "She was followed off the Rez this morning." He sneered. "Made a couple of stops in town then was followed out. She was last seen on the I-90 heading east. We tracked her to South Dakota."

"And…?"

"That's the last call I received. From what I hear, she left him to go back to her job in New York."

Malachi's lips turned up, pleased. "So, Hank has lost his freedom, lost his money, and now lost his woman. Not a loss, I think. She should have been Indian." He paused for a moment, relishing the power that he had. "I wonder what else Hank will lose?"

xxxxxxx

Henry snarled and sulked all day. Kelly had done an excellent job of maintaining the bar in his absence, and although he growled it, he thanked her for her efforts. He was short tempered and feeling utterly empty.

He did what needed to be done, he justified. Now, he had to focus on getting himself back on track. He didn't need the distraction…but, he sighed heavily, leaning both hands on the smooth polish of the wooden counter, he did need her.

Damn, he was angry.

He hit the top of the bar with his fist, drawing the attention of those around him, patrons and staff alike, stormed to his office, and slammed the door. He was in no condition to face customers; he scrubbed his face with both hands as he paced the small space. Maybe it was too soon to come back to work.

Walt entered through the swinging saloon gate by the entrance as the office door slammed, and he spared a glance to the young, Cheyenne waitress coming out of the kitchen with a tray of burgers and fries. She shrugged dismissively and returned to her customers, carefully placing the loaded plates on the table. It seemed to be business as usual. The same lunch crowd. The same hustle and bustle. But, he could feel the static in the air, the uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. He strode through the restaurant, and pushed the office door open without knocking.

"Bad day?" he asked to Henry's glower, then took a seat in the ancient, wooden chair opposite his friend who was leaning his backside against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Julia came to see me on her way out." He paused to gauge his friend's reaction. Henry's jaw tightened. "You know she's better off away from here."

"Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?" Henry unemotionally gazed at Walt.

Walt smiled uncomfortably, pausing, trying to figure how to say what was next. "I'm gonna have Ferg come and check the place out," he flatly stated. He didn't trust Malachi and, after what Julia had said in his office, felt that Henry's might be bugged.

"For?"

"Just being careful. Don't know who's listening?" Walt rose to leave, pausing by the door. "A wise man once gave me some good advice. He said, _everyone has a path to follow and we must meet the challenges on that path bravely but with care and caution_." His lips twitched up slightly as he slipped through the door.

Henry's eyes followed his friend out. "I was not talking about me," he muttered to himself.

By mid-afternoon, with the lunch crowd gone and the restaurant calm, Henry took the opportunity to do something he had been itching to do - get out and feel the sun on his skin. He wanted to walk, but the weight of the GPS tracking monitor around his ankle irritated him. He knew he was relegated to a one-mile radius but just where those boundaries were, he didn't know. Pulling the bar rag from his back pocket, he slapped it onto the counter and told Kelly he was going out. She nodded to his back as he left, placing a fresh beer in front of a large Indian sitting in the last seat at the end of the bar.

Henry strode down the road, the warm, June sun on his face. He tipped his head up to meet it, willing it to wash away the heavy feeling that weighed him down.

_It's a beautiful day at the Red Pony and continual soiree_, he snorted as his bar's tag line came to mind. The sun may be shining and the weather pleasant, but his world was falling apart. He needed to find a way to repay those who supported him. He needed to find a way to save all he had built from being destroyed. He needed to help Walt find out who killed his wife. He needed to find a way to clear this entire mess up so that Julia could come home. Her birthday was coming up. She'd been away last year, too. _So much to do... _he thought, his mind reeling as he stooped to pile some rocks at the point where the GPS beeped and the light turned red. Stepping back, he checked the light again, green, changed direction, and continued to walk.

After about an hour, he had stacked more than eight small markers for his perimeter. And, as he was turning to a new direction, a Sheriff's car pulled up beside him, the windows rolled down, the driver trying to get his attention.

"Henry," the deputy called, leaning toward the passenger side of the vehicle.

Not a person Henry liked all that much. He kept walking.

The car pulled a little ahead, and the driver called again making Henry stop and turn.

"You can't be wandering just anywhere," Branch informed him. "Get in."

Henry glowered. "My people have walked this land for three hundred years. What is the problem?"

"The problem is the monitor goes off when you step out of bounds. The Corrections Center gets a call thinking one of its parolees is on the run and they call us. Get in."

Henry thought to refuse, but then huffed, reluctantly swinging the passenger door open and climbing into the front seat. He intended to never sit in the back of a police car again.

"I always stepped back when the light went off," he clarified.

"Maybe so," Branch said, pulling away from the curb and back onto the road. "But, they don't know that."

As Branch drove Henry back to the Red Pony, the conversation was brief, but Henry learned just who had paid his bail. Branch. Henry could feel the pressure rise again.

_Could this day possibly get any worse?_

xxxxxxx

It was nearing midnight, and Julia had been driving for almost fourteen hours. Her run from Durant had been carefully planned for Henry's sake, but up until a few hours ago, she didn't know exactly where she would run to. She had no intention of going far, certainly not this far, and was glad to be stopping soon. She'd get the help she needed, she was sure of that. This could be her turning point, depending...

Her eyes strained against the darkness trying to read the street signs in the dimly lit neighborhood in Belton, Missouri. You'd think that putting a lamppost on the corner above a street name would make sense but, no… she'd already made two wrong turns only to come out a short way down the same street she'd originally turned off of. A lot of the streets were circular or crescent. It was very frustrating. And worse…every house pretty much looked like the next. Track housing. Pre-fab style bungalows. Front door in same place. Windows in the same places. Garage on the same side. Even down to the single maple tree on the left corner of each lawn. No creativity! Maybe it would look different in daylight... and after a few hours sleep.

She huffed. And now, she was talking to herself. Sugar wasn't even listening anymore. She'd curled up on the back seat and gone to sleep. Lucky dog…

When Julia finally came upon Richards Avenue, she let out a sigh of exhausted relief and turned left off Westover Road. Taking the curve slowly, the car crept up the dark path looking for house numbers. Now, it was after midnight, and like all respectable neighborhoods, everyone was asleep, so… house lights were off, no numbers were lit…except one. She smiled, feeling a newfound rush, and crept a little faster to the simple house on the left. Ignoring traffic rules, she crossed in the opposite direction and pulled up in front of a low, single dwelling, stopping at the curb. Sugar's head suddenly popped up, awake and alert.

Pushing the driver's door open, every muscle from shoulders to knees creaked as Julia got out. She stiffly and quietly moved to the rear and let Sugar out next. It had been a long day.

Just up ahead, slowly approaching from the walkway, a dark figure silently appeared: straight back, broad shoulders that could carry the weight of the world. She knew the posture well. Someone she could rely on. Someone she could trust. Her lips curled in a tired smile.

"Hello, Tom."


	8. Chapter 8 Old Friends

**8 – Old Friends**

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas P. Brennan. Boomer, to some. Fourth generation Army. Tall. Brooding. Far too serious for his own good.

We'd met in Uganda nine years ago when he was a captain. He hated me then. Maybe hate's too strong a word. Let's just say, he didn't understand what I did or why I did it, therefore, he dealt with me with caution and a touch of disdain. He kept his distance until he had to work with me. And, then, it was clip, short messages.

Tom was a combat engineer, what's called a Sapper. Highly trained. No nonsense. Team leader. These were the guys that went in first, built or dismantled things like bridges and bombs, and paved the way for other soldiers to arrive. He and his unit had already been in Sudan for two months supporting a company south of Juma, near Mount Kinyeti when they were diverted to a new job just over the southern border. They were to join a UN Humanitarian team in the small town of Lamwaka, in the Kitgum district of Uganda. An area well known for its violent skirmishes. Their job - to disarm a minefield left by the Lord's Resistance Army that dominated the region. The UN team – mine - was there to oversee the procedure since I had prior history in the area, particularly with the local quarry owner whose business was closest to the minefield. Not a particularly good history, mind you, but one never-the-less. I had come nose-to-nose with the man a few years earlier on a human rights issue and succeeded in freeing some of the younger workers, all children under the age of ten, from bonded labor. Lately, the quarry owner had come to use the minefield as a way of keeping his workers in line. To disobey or not produce as much as he demanded meant being sent to the field for a day. If you survived … well, let's just say, some did not. My job was to stop this practice.

It didn't take Tom's unit long to meet resistance from the quarry owner and his henchmen. There was an armed stand-off, and I had to step in to negotiate - quite literally - in the middle of drawn weapons. This angered Captain Brennan, because I'd made myself a human target.

Both sides wanted a battle. They didn't get one. Neither was entirely happy, but all came out alive in the end. Result - the field was dismantled, though it took well over a month with having to constantly keep watch over their shoulders.

That was the beginning. Our first impressions of each other. Both men wanted to wear the pants and weren't too happy that a woman put them on. According to Tom, I took too many unnecessary risks, and he didn't like it. In his opinion, I was reckless.

I looked at the man before me: five-ten, medium build, light grey sweats hanging loose on his lean hips, white t-shirt a size too big but still showing impressive biceps for a forty-six year-old veteran, cropped brown hair starting to pepper with grey, same brooding, cautious expression in the tired eyes that I knew would be steel blue in the daylight.

I was a mess. Short, tawny hair tousled from the day's ride and constant raking with my fingers. The peach tank top was sweat-stuck down the back from sitting so long; the bra had been removed somewhere around Rock Port, navy jogging shorts, and sandals completed the sloppy attire. I was stiff and utterly exhausted.

"So," he began quietly, hands on hips. "I got this call. Said you needed help."

I nodded slowly feeling my neck crack. "Thank you."

He gave a sharp nod. "Pull into the driveway. I'll open the garage and get the equipment. What are we looking for?"

"A tracking device. I want to be sure I wasn't followed."

His brows rose with a lop-sided smirk. "What did you step in this time?" He'd always said the risks would one day come and bite me in the butt. It had been a bone of contention with us.

"Long story. Suffice it to say, my life is in potential danger due to an association with someone else."

His smirk dropped and his forehead narrowed angrily. "Domestic violence?"

I smiled at his concern. "No." I shook my head. "There's someone out there seeking revenge on two people I know by going after those they care about. One person is already dead. They didn't want me to be next."

Tom inhaled, drawing to his full height, his innate sense of protection kicking in. He nodded, and silently led the way up the driveway.

It didn't take long. While I searched the camper, Tom used an electronic sensor to scan the car. And, lo' and behold, there it was, a small devise no bigger than my thumbnail in the passenger wheel hub. We took forensic pictures before removing it, and he dusted for fingerprints on the devise and wheel casing before bagging the bug. There was a serial number on it that could, hopefully, be traced. He, then, moved to the camper. Even though I'd already checked, it gave him a sense of control and satisfaction to quickly do it again. I didn't argue. That was just Tom. I was grateful.

Sugar was curled in the corner of the garage, head down, watching us. I'd checked her collar and harness way back in South Dakota and found nothing. Leaning my backside against the edge of the hood, arms folded across my chest, waiting for Tom to put away the equipment, my eyes drifted shut.

"How long have you been up?" He startled me awake.

"Um," I thought, counting backwards. "Tweny-four…Thirty-six…forty… forty-two hours." I finally calculated. Not my first long stretch, but not far off. I wasn't used to it anymore. "I nodded off a bit last night, twenty minutes or so, but there was a lot of talking and planning."

"Shit," Tom blew out quietly, shaking his head. "I gotta bed. We'll sleep for a few hours, then move on tomorrow."

"Move on?" I asked. "I thought you lived here."

He scowled. "No. When your adjutant said you needed asylum and a sweep, I felt it would be safer to do it away from where you'd end up. I signed out the equipment from the training school, and headed here. Belongs to a friend. On vacation at the moment. I live in Dixon, another 3 hours south. Didn't think you'd want to keep moving tonight. I'll secure this little baby for now." He held the bug up between his left index finger and thumb. "I have a friend at Camp Clark about an hour south of here. There's a transport heading for Virginia in the morning. You want this to keep moving?"

I nodded. "I honestly don't think I was followed, but I don't know the players or the extent of their plan. I'd rather play it safe." He nodded, silently leading the way to the side door of the house. "What do you do now? Still a first responder?" I asked.

"Nah. Done my time," he snorted. "Now, I train other people to jump in."

xxxxxxx

It was 6am. He'd barely slept in the four hours he'd lain in bed. Now, standing in the doorway of the small guest room watching her sleep, he debated on how to wake her up. She looked so peaceful, face down and sprawled. Not like the little ball she used to curl into.

It had been six years since they'd last seen each other. Another place. A different task. His unit had been assigned to assist UNESCO in the Turkana County, northern Kenya. UNESCO was drilling, looking for aquifers in the arid territory. It didn't seem to matter that the region hosted the largest lake in Kenya; the rest of the area was as dry as toast and had been for years. The military was called in when trouble began brewing between clans and the workers needed some protection. It also helped that the Sapper engineers could assist with the exploration.

And, there she was again. He'll never forget the image of her wandering across the desert-like terrain. One child straddling her hip. Another holding her hand. Several others tagging along behind, animatedly chatting, obviously asking questions. She smiled happily, patiently pointing and explaining in a language that he didn't understand what the workers were doing and why they were making so many holes. It didn't matter that the children were blacker than night or that the clothes they wore were in tatters. She listened and educated and took them as they were. When she saw him, recognition flashed immediately. The three-year gap vanished, and her smile broadened. She put the young child down, and approached, hand out in a familiar welcome. It had been the beginning of the end for him, though he didn't want to acknowledge it.

She stirred in the bed, rolling onto her back, releasing a heavy sigh.

He pushed off from the door frame, approached, gave her shoulder a light shake.

"Time to get up, get moving. You still don't drink coffee? Want tea?"

Her right eye cracked open slightly, looking up at him, and she groaned. "Nothing, thanks." Swinging the covers back, exposing another tank and sleep shorts, she rolled her long legs off the soft mattress, sat up, and stretched. "Where's Sugar?"

"In the kitchen." He backed toward the door feeling a familiar stir.

He'd let the dog out to pee and had given her a bowl of water and food from prepared bags in what was obviously the dog's backpack. He smiled. Take it from Julia – everyone and everything counted and had the right to basic necessities. Of course, she'd have a pack for the dog. Her's was safely stowed on the floor at the head of the bed. That same old, tattered knapsack. A few more patches on it. A little more stitching to hold it together. But, it was something that was so "her".

"We leave as soon as you're ready. You okay to drive?" he asked while retreating from the room.

She yawned, nodded, rising and reaching to the ceiling, then flipped the covers back over the bed.

He noticed the scars. They weren't hard to miss in what she was wearing. He'd followed her activities as best as he could when they parted in Mandera. Another story. But, paid close attention when she'd been shot. He shook his head. Again, so her, taking the risks. She'd stood in front of armed insurgents, protecting clan leaders and a peace treaty, and taking five bullets for her efforts, nearly dying. He remembered sitting in the officer's club on base, his first few weeks at Fort Leonard Wood, catching the news as a colleague chatted about the new batch of Sapper trainees. Once his eyes caught the attack Nairobi News had been filming; he turned deaf to the colleague, and felt his heart rise to choke him as he watched Julia's body spasm and spin with the riddle of bullets.

It was a sight he would never forget.

xxxxxxx

It was a struggle, but I kept up. Most of the route was easy and straight. I-49 south to the MO-7 south. It was the left, right, left, right through small-town USA that got to me. You'd think the town planners might have found a way to bypass the business district. Put the highway on the outskirts, not through the core. But, no… Tom almost lost me a couple of times, but protectively slowed, keeping me in his rear view mirror. In my opinion, small towns or big cities, highways don't belong in them.

Finally back on an interstate, 44, we passed a sign for Fort Leonard Wood on the right and ramped left toward Dixon.

Within half an hour, Tom pulled into a long drive toward a single-level, ranch-style house on a large plot of land. Dark wood and brick. It blended well, almost hidden, with the multitude of trees and expanse of grass. Big deck off the back. Two-car garage. I could even see a garden patch in the distance. Clothes on the line. My eyes widened. Did I take him away from a wife?

Stopping his car on the far left of the flat, paved driveway, he instructed me to back in on the right, standing behind and directing me as close to the garage as I could go.

Finally sliding it into park, I eased out wanting to kiss the ground. I was so tired. Sugar anxiously jumped out and immediately began to sniff the new surroundings.

"I never thought to ask: your wife doesn't mind that I'm here?"

"Not married." Tom led the way to the front door, jiggling his keys. "You're safe here," he said as we entered, passing through the small living room. He tossed his keys into a brightly coloured ceramic dish on a wooden end table by a tan, tweed sofa, and motioned as he rapidly moved down a narrow corridor on the left. "Make yourself at home. Food's in the fridge. Bathroom's over there." He pointed at an open door at the end of the hall. "Your room is in there, on the right." He added as his strode into the room on the left, in the front of the house. "When was your last proficiency test?" he called from the bedroom.

"Small arms? Nairobi in January, before they sent me back to South Sudan. A Glock 9mm." I was still standing in the living room taking it in.

He came out of his bedroom, shirtless, carrying a fresh set underclothes. "How'd you do?"

I smiled sweetly. "I shot the crotch out of the target."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I assume intentionally."

"I was going to face Sabbak."

He nodded, understanding. "I gotta shower and get to work. Need to pee before I get in there?"

I shook my head, no. It was as if the years between hadn't happened. Like we'd only been apart for a few days. The banter was comfortable.

Tom left his cell phone number on a pad by the land line and asked if I could move the camper into the garage by myself. He didn't want it to draw attention in the driveway. I nodded. The thing was pretty light. Easy to push.

When he was gone and the camper stowed, I wandered back into the house. It was definitely masculine, light on the embellishments. He really could use a decorator, I smiled. The living room walls were standard house beige, the sofa and matching chair almost the same colour. No throw pillows, but there was a blue blanket folded and tossed over the arm of the chair. The dark, laminate wood floor contrasted the light furnishings. No rugs. A 48 inch, flat screen TV hung on the far wall over a simple, wooden coffee table that was laden with DVDs, remote controls, and books. There was a line of shelves on the left hosting framed photographs of friends and colleagues. I took a step closer, a bit disappointed. I wasn't among them. A stereo system was on another shelf on the right. I knew there would be Miles Davis CDs close by. In the corner, near the kitchen, was a universal gym set: barbells and dumbbells, some pulleys. I continued to wander. The kitchen was white with speckled gray counters and golden oak cupboards. It was neat. No clutter. I opened the fridge: a bowl of fresh cherry tomatoes, some cucumbers, obviously from the garden, a few eggs and some cheese, a carton of orange juice. Bottled water. I smiled again. Old habits die hard. I meandered down the empty hall to "my room" to discover that it was really his office. Pale green walls. Forest green blind. There was an scarred, wooden desk with a computer on it inside the doorway, a small, black, office chair on wheels tucked under. A green and black futon was pushed against the far wall. A scattering of files and documents on it. Boxes piled in a corner by the window looked like they had been moved from one post to another without being opened.

I pushed some of the papers aside and sat on the edge of the futon suddenly feeling very weak and tired... and very much alone. Pulling my cell phone out, I hesitated, looking at the blank screen. Then, dialed the memorized number.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me. Just wanted to let you know I was okay."


End file.
